If You Ever Enter My Mind
by Cyrelia J
Summary: Starscream challenges him at every turn. How can he keep doing this to himself? "Why don't you want me? Everyone wants me!". Starscream centric. Megatron/Starscream


Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers of any of its characters. I'm also not making any money off of this so please don't sue.

If You Ever Enter My Mind...  
By Cyrelia J

Narcissism, they say, when they see him with the ancient shard of broken glass and the polish. But he didn't just see himself reflected in the surface; he saw all of them behind him as well. The relic had served its purpose over the long millenia and held up to the burdens placed on it- just as he had. Things such as these were the only things that remained for him it seemed. Everything else had long deserted him. _"Beauty fades, my friend..."_ How many eons ago had Skyfire spoken those words? He shifted my focus back to the task at hand. He no longer had any use for such foolish sentimentality.

His finger, with a thin sheen of polish, slid along his denta, the silly ritual readying him for what lie ahead. Once again he glanced at those behind him and the words filtered through his audio sensors unbidden. "Princess..." -that one from Blitzwing, and a few of the others joined in with their whispers of "pretty bot" and "**ornament**". His hand trembled, the last slander filling him with a cold rage. _Is that what they really think? That all I'm good for is standing around like a useless piece of art? When I'm leader of this filthy farce of an army, you'll all be the first ones to fall at my hand, and then you'll see exactly what I can do. _

He capped the small, precious pot, and stored it along with the reflective glass and spared a sideways look to the the lot of them who suddenly ceased their chatter. The misfits were brave enough when his back was turned- disgusting cowards.

No, not to his face. Never to his face.

He entertained the thought of remaining down there longer but he knew that Megatron would never wait for him. _I'll never give you the satisfaction of making me run to you again._ He turned and pushed his shoulders back and knew now that their optics were all focused on him and no one else. He smiled as he ascended, walking with an extra bit of sway._ If I can't have your attention, at least I have theirs. I know how much you hate that, mighty Megatron._ He saw him holding court with the head sycophant and knew he had chosen this room just to look down on the rest of them.

_I'm not like them. _

It was hard to hide the disdain and some days he didn't even bother trying when he looked at them and today when he glanced at the hoard and that aft kisser to Megatron's left he almost laughed out loud._ When they're all gone and when even Soundwave has deserted you I'll be the only one remaining as always. Perhaps a few more dents will adorn my chassis, but you can never take my pride, tyrant. And in your death throes- when the light flickers out of your optics by my hand- I'll be the only one you have._

Him: the traitor.

Soundwave flanked Megatron's other side and the proud seeker shifted, and stood, as always, an imperceptible fraction closer. _You don't ever dare, you sniveling coward, and that is why you'll always be third. _For a hated moment he imagined battle scarred hands ghosting on his sensitive wingtips like a master to his beloved pet. Silence overwhelmed the crowd, the leader looking ahead and nowhere else. His glossa slipped out, absently wetting lip components at the thought and he began to tune out the familiar rally speech and return cries with contempt. The dreams of a lifetime, reduced to a basement at the bottom of the ocean floor and a motley crew of sociopathic misfits battling for some misbegotten megalomaniac. Really, he should've been a fraggin' poet.

His hands trembled at his sides, angry that the false prophet dares lay his eyes on everyone out there except him. The orator continued, the words spilling out with hateful and tired promises. _"We shall hold the world someday, young seeker..."_ He couldn't even remember his own name back then. He was only Megatron's golden seeker an eternity ago. The leader moved away from him and the slight static tingle left his dermaplating, the speech growing more impassioned and fiery and he wondered for a hateful moment where the other could pull up that emotion for such a wretched lost cause. _Whispered promises, time and time again, just like an unfaithful lover, **Lord** Megatron... _

No one noticed the glittering, sidelong glance before he stepped out to play his part with an arrogant, always coquettish turn of a hip toward the leader he was about to emasculate. Megatron did so despise those acquired human gesticulations and motions. Starscream was rather fond of that human word: emasculate.  
"Tell us again, oh mighty Megatron," he began with a mocking lilt and contradictory begging optics, "how is it that we still hide here beneath the ocean after years of pointless petty scheming when a colony of mindless earthen insects can overrun their enemies in a matter of hours?" He felt angry as he continued. His hatred was more pronounced than usual, and the tyrant stepped forward upon the end of the short outburst to silence the dissenter. In an instance Starscream danced just out of reach with a sensual pirouette that seemed more like a natural part of his movement and less of a defensive countermeasure. "This, is what you call victory, **Lord** Megatron?"

His mouth curved into a vicious smile, shining denta bared with a feral undertone. He turned back to the enraged leader, determined to set him over the edge, optics peering up from his disadvantaged height, with a mocking submissiveness. The seeker then stalked to the other who eyed him with wary optics, those wonderful hateful LED orbs focused solely on him. It made his circuitry sing and his hydraulics course and surge like the tide on this miserable planet. He spoke, as he was wont on rare occasion in the far more intimate Cybertronian language, the dialect of Tarn full of familiar inflections one might use toward a lover, and the room was all at once filled with the overly accented trills and clicks, the audience watching, mesmerized by the suicidal showman.

_"Is this your great warrior's **prowess**?" _The word he chose in their language was an ambiguous one, and he emphasized it further with a teasing tap of his finger to the other's chest plate, those scarlet optics promising violence as his own met them, and his smile widened, light glimmering off his polished denta. There was a slight rustle through the crowd as Megatron trembled but did not react. He turned away again, with just the barest taunting brush of a delicate wing, the static electricity giving a brief kiss between them. He knew how badly it was going to hurt and yet there he was pushing- hating and wanting and **needing**, all at once. His glossa snaked out again, this time absently, the precious pilfered ruby energon that Megatron was sure to recognize mingled with mechanical fluid wetting his lip components. His hand rested on his hip, head cocked to one side as he snickered softly at the danger._ All for me..._

"I think... it's time for a change. What's was the old saying we had in Tarn?..." He pretended to think for the barest fraction of a second as the other looked about to advance, and he could hear the phantom voice telling him not to dare. But caution, was for fools and Autobots alike and despite what they all thought about him, he was neither. There was a soft titter of laughter from his vocal processor as he finished his thought, "Ah yes... The only difference between an Iaconian senator and an aging third rate gladiator from Kaon is that one bows out gracefully when his term is out and his circuits are decayed with age... and the other becomes leader of the Decepticons." He didn't even have time to laugh at his own joke before the warrior struck and he found himself weightless and airborne, wondering if he'd hit the ground or it... today would be one of those wondrous, blissful turns in the routine where the leader seizes him and-

His pedes dangled helplessly in the air and the large hand around his neck tightened. He almost moaned at the long sought out agony. Megatron's optics were hateful and angry as his own. He read the frustration for the nearly indispensable jet as the gladiator hissed the familiar "Once again you go too far, Starscream." And yet the only thing that remained for him were those crimson optics that once more saw only him. _He's looking at me now, Soundwave._ He waited for the tirade to wash over him like a balm, the grip becoming harder and more painful and he knew that he could turn off the pain receptors at any time but never daring to diminish even the slightest touch from his beloved enemy. He could almost tick off the kliks down to the astrosecond that he needed to wait before the begging began.

The words came unbidden and soon forgotten as they left his vocals, the right touch of supplication and pleading and his hands reached up to embrace the one massive paw that enveloped him. The digits of his fingers squeezed, caressed, but they didn't struggle, and he felt the sensitive dermaplating start to give. There was a brief moment of wondering what death would be like at his leader's hands. Perhaps a shining moment of rapture as his systems overloaded and finally failed or a taste of the sweetest agony he'd ever felt. It wouldn't be a gentle passing, no- it wouldn't be the quiet snuffing out of an errant flame, it would be a wonderful cacophony of sensation and ecstasy and he stopped himself from shivering and sighing with every greater bit of crushing pressure.

He was released, and sank to his knees, hands weakly grasping at the last lingering, unique, static charges from Megatron's grip and to the laughing crowd it seemed as if he'd received his comeuppance once again. He shook his head, cranium still bowed as his hands gingerly reached out to the ground in front of him: every movement as always, planned and gracefully executed. Megatron had already begun to readdress the crowd at hand who cheered at the expected show of dominance and violence like the simple creatures he'd always known them to be. _Fragging sheep... _His long fingers gave a slight twitch, an all too familiar urge to just tip and lean and worship at the pillar who has stood for so long as their god that the name Primus had become but a fading memory.

His optic sensors slid up for the briefest of instants, head remaining static and already the leader had turned his back completely as if he were just the same as the rest of the vacant eyed hoarde. He was no one's equal.

_No one turns their back on me..._

He rose in a fluid motion, right arm practically burning with the desire to blast, the slender 'con knowing his own weakness far better than Megatron could ever give him credit for. He went back to his familiar place, head high as always, as if he'd done nothing wrong. The looks of derision were plain, but he refused to acknowledge them knowing that one day only he and Megatron would stand at the end of the universe, or he alone. _You're mine, Megatron... _He rubbed at the wound again, not daring to look at the smug communications officer a few short feet away. The slight tremors of pain reminded him that it was he who held Megatron's attention at but a few words and not the slavering tape deck. The smirk was back on his face and those ignorant in the crowd, as always, marvelled at the perceived arrogance.

The words droned on and yet as bored as he was with the theatrics and the rhetoric he'd heard all too many times before, he was always impressed with the way the old gladiator could hold everyone in his thrall. His optics stayed focused on the hated object of his obsession and he supposed, with a bitter realization that the same held true for him as well. The pain began to ebb as the crown laconically dispersed, revamped with new morale and ridiculous overconfidence. He remained where he was, oddly obedient as even Soundwave eventually took his leave with a final infuriating bow.

"Filthy aft kisser," he muttered under his breath once he and Megatron were alone. He didn't wonder for very long whether or not his words had been heard. The large grey mech stood beside him suddenly, optics ahead. He felt that familiar static that his core knew so intimately and barely stopped himself from leaning closer just to feel it ever more. He settled for another sidelong smoldering glance even as he was ignored and he felt the lust and rage at war within his systems.  
"Soundwave knows his place," came the unsolicited reply as Megatron walked back down to the main floor leaving Starscream to his thoughts.

The opposing urges descended upon him and all at once he fought the temptation to leap upon the other's back and rend the dermaplating from his chassis with bare hands, or throw himself into Megatron's embrace and subjugate himself for just that little bit of attention. Of course, already the leader was gone and had approached the holographic table on the far side of the room used for strategy and battle simulations. A lesser mech would slump in defeat, but not Starscream, no, his shoulders flung back as always, taking his time as if his traipse into his inner thoughts was merely an intentional ploy to keep his audience captive until he deemed fit to descend to their level. Nothing further really needed to be said. It was evident in the offhanded way Megatron had moved on to entering the data in the computer and began addressing his second as if he were exactly where he should be. But that was Megatron.

The one he can never have.

He crossed the distance with a slight sway that's almost audible and the tap of his footfalls on the floor had their usual rhythmic sound with that extra swing reserved only for the leader. He didn't move to stand next to warrior, instead taking the opposing side of the table as if they were in a formal negotiation. His position will force the other's gaze lest his optics remain submissively downturned. He smiled. Either way he wins.

Time to play the game...

The table pulled up the simulation and he saw the usual strafe of his wingmates- and then the other trine. There was a darkening to his optics as he took in the implications of the new formation. There was a calculating flicker in his gaze that darted from battle plan to battle master. As always, the Decepticon leader was inscrutable, abnormally silent, yet obviously amused. _You don't... _  
"You don't know," he rasped with barely repressed horror and then trailed off as the amusement didn't slacken in the slightest.

He knew. He always knew.

Starscream's vocals died down as the other finally decided to speak.  
"As always, Starscream, you presume too much..." the formation was a necessary evil, and didn't the air commander know all about that. He watched, denta nibbling on the tip of a quivering blue digit at the complicated intertwined set of maneuvers. His optics continued to flicker. The intimacy of the plan was... troubling. The gladiator continued to ride his impotent wave of patriotism and Starscream gave a startled jump as denta broke through dermaplating. The wound bled out, running down the side of his mouth in a small ruby trickle before he stuck the injured digit between a petulant pout. There was a soft sigh as the nanites rushed to repair the tear and yet all at once he was seized by some perverse desire to lap at the healing injury.

His free hand bore more of his weight on the table and he leaned in, the masochist in him lapping at the warm fluid, taking a strange sort of glee in the taste of his own lifeblood. The finger left his mouth and he simply licked and tasted and half listened to the leader who spared him the briefest of glances and then switched to another simulation. The forced intimacy of flyers was nothing compared to the heat which filled the room and his core pulsed, servos whirring and in that moment, the mad brilliance seized him and he sauntered around the table, sliding up to the leader into that personal bubble, quickly typing a few keystrokes one handed. There was a coy expression to the side, but his true attention and rush of hydraulics were held for the altered flight plan. The two trines appeared again separate, more efficient in the same span of sky and yet... not nearly so... close.

He saved the plan without asking for approval and gives a soft whine when his nanites finally win the wound healing battle. There was an impressed snort from Megatron and he peered expectantly up at him. _Look at me... _he wanted to demand as that helmed cranium merely gave a nod.  
"So, you are good for something after all," came the familiar musing and he smiled prettily, showing off his work, so close that anyone would have taken notice. _I was good enough to ruin, wasn't I mighty Megatron? I was good enough to hold in thrall for centuries, good enough to be held like a caged bird, good enough to kill, betray, hate, and destroy myself. I was good enough for everything but..._ He embraced the hatred and wrapped himself in it, the surge of bitter lust at its most potent at times like these. He chuckled softly the words escaping him as he then deliberately turned his gaze from the warrior.

"You speak as one who actually knows something about measuring worth." He toyed with a small model on the table doing his best to appear bored with the entire thing. He didn't dare quiet his air intakes, didn't dare to hope even as he rolled the dice. He took a challenging step away and felt the strong grip on his wrist before he could take another. He stopped and fought the urge to turn around, forcing his sensory nodes up to their most sensitive and then almost falling to his knees as every last tiny spark and tremor ran between the two of them with the intensity of a thousand endless needles. His optics remained on the far end of the room. It was too much, but he never could resist throwing himself into the fire. _"One day, my friend you will fly far too close to the sun and you'll be like Icarion who burned up trying to reach that which he never could attain..."_ He never cared for such mothering old warnings and he bit back a soft whimper as the sensors registered the faint pulse of Megatron's thumb to his dermaplating.

"Who said we were finished?" Came the commanding rasp and he wanted to turn back and see himself reflected in that apathetic gaze for just a few lovely moments. _We'll never be finished. _He only dared answer in the deepest recesses of his CPU. In that moment, he hated so much the strong unbreakable grip and the superior strength and power and at the same time he desired it with such dark need that wanted to crawl as far as he could inside the other and steal that strength for his own. The gap was closed and he nearly overloaded when every heightened sensor registered the electron signature from the larger mech, practically pressed to his back. He felt like lowly prey being stalked and the urge to run seized him for one maddening instant before he forced his body to turn in to everything he desired. Megatron passed a soft breath of respirated heat exhaust fluttering along the back of his helm and he had to let go.

He dared to turn around and nearly dared to beg and just when he felt his lip components part and plead for just a small shred of acknowledgment. And there was that hateful smile and he realized that once again those damn optics were trained on some point of insignificance just beyond the scope of vision that would make him see... _I hate you..._ He almost cried out as his arm was released and Megatron returned to yet another simulation as if nothing ever happened and he lowered the sensors angrily._ Why don't you want me? Everyone wants me! _And of course the silence answered his thoughts along with the monotonous drone of his hated oppressor.

_Look at me..._

He didn't listen. He didn't hear a slag sucking Primus forsaken thing as his internal chronometer ticked down and the simulations moved to ground formations they both knew he had no business even bothering with. Megatron didn't even question his silence. He said nothing to the bright red optics that studied his broad hands with all the desire and hatred he'd ever felt in his existence. His hands trembled just so and as the model flickered off for the final time those quaking digits moved almost independently of their owner and rest along the pale grey dermaplating on the table. He dared... disturb the universe. His hand looked oddly small on top of Megatrons. He didn't look up because as badly as he wanted to see all of a sudden he found he no longer wanted to-

He thought perhaps Megatron might be saying something until he felt the trapped appendage snake free gliding as easily as an eel through the waters surrounding their oceanic prison. He looked up then, only to see the fusion cannon, and the back of one so arrogant he'd turn his back to an enemy and welcome the fire.

No one turns their back on me..

He fired. 


End file.
